


Ever On And On

by Kookaburra42



Series: Redemption and Remaking [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Black Speech, Bromance, Fluff and Angst, For Science!, Gen, Goofballs on adventures, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Isengard, Language Barrier, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Violence, Mordain Culture & Customs, Orc Culture, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookaburra42/pseuds/Kookaburra42
Summary: An Uruk and a Hobbit meet.  They don’t exactly fall in love, but they’re not enemies either.  When they cross paths with a very unlucky Elf, will everything collapse into chaos?  Or will this be the start of something new?
Relationships: Original Female Character & Original Male Character
Series: Redemption and Remaking [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010949
Comments: 30
Kudos: 12





	1. Roads Go Ever On And On

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of a series that will be written in a very sporadic way. Essentially, the Lord of the Rings with 9000% more redemption arcs but just as much bromance and a lot more gay. 
> 
> This work, for reference, takes place around ten years before the Lord of the Rings.

Muldhognûrz wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and shivered. Ten days of walking, and he had nothing to show for it. Besides a clear head, of course. 

He remembered his first day in the wilderness: the confusion, the strange feeling as Sharkû’s voice left his mind. Mul winced. It had hurt like Void and he’d fallen to the ground with the sheer misery of it. 

He flicked his ears with a grunt of annoyance and kept walking. The cold was biting and miserable, sure, but not so bad compared to what he’d left behind. His mind had turned swiftly to escape because of Isengard’s misery, after all. 

He’d managed to secure a thick cloak, a bag, and a blank journal and pen from the raid that had given him his chance at freedom, as well as enough food to last him at least a month. Mostly dried meat, and a bit of bread and ale as well. This being done, then, he had set a determined pace and kept going until he couldn’t even see Isengard anymore. 

That was when he’d been cut off from Sharkû. 

Apparently, the further from Isengard he went, the weaker the wizard’s hold on him was. After the original shock of being alone in his own mind, he had forced himself onward. Now, miles and miles away, Sharkû couldn’t even touch him. 

_Almost there._

The forest and mountains before him were both impressive and terrifying. There, he’d spend at least a bit of his journey, stumbling in the shadows of the trees and cursing. 

The trees loomed up like pillars of shadow. If they could walk, he reckoned, they’d beat the shit out of everything and everyone that messed with them. 

As he left the open country, he looked back regretfully. Already, he missed his twin sister, Gundurzbazg, who he’d been forced to leave behind in Isengard--her unit hadn’t been sent out on that raid--his idiot fellows… 

Well. He wouldn’t miss most things from Isengard. Everything that meant something was in his bag. Everything else was his sister’s if she wanted it. And of course, he wouldn’t miss what went on. 

_The wizard had forced the Uruk to kneel. There was a knife in his hand that flashed for a moment. There was no noise beyond the Dark Lord’s hoarse baritone, shouting, “CURUMO,_ **_WAIT!_ ** _” A blast of Power flung everyone in the chamber back--and then the Uruk stopped being alive, or anything at all…_

Mul ripped himself out of his memories and moved on. The air felt oppressive and chilled; truly unwelcoming (and honestly, he wasn’t surprised). He forced himself to ignore it, however, instead observing the trees. He’d never hated them, strangely--felt almost drawn to them, even. Enough that his fingers itched to draw their every detail and flit over their leaves. He would gladly dart through them, if given the chance. 

Either way, he didn’t mind this forest so much. “Just don’t kill me, arright?” he asked, voice hoarse from disuse. 

And on he went, cursing whenever something hit him or scratched him and jumping whenever he heard a noise. 

Needless to say, Mul didn’t get very far that first day in the forest. By the time he went to rest that night he was exhausted and frustrated. 

He dreamt of his sister that night, leading her unit into a raid, desperate for news about him. The Dark Lord’s yells. An Elf singing by the shore, tears glistening on his fair face. 

Mul was reasonably happy when morning reared its head. 

* * *

Hobbits were supposed to be sensible. Ruby Took was anything but that. And, so, then years to the day after Bilbo Baggins left the Shire, she packed her things and went off on an adventure. 

The purpose of this was honestly simple. Ruby had long held a fascination with the villains of old, and decided that it would be just _dandy_ to seek out an Orc and ask them questions about their life. At the respectable age of 34, she was no longer a tween but an adult, and besides that, her parents had always spoiled her since she was an only child. 

Wearing the warmest clothes she owned, her pale cheeks flushed from cold, she set off. Ruby’s honey colored hair was tied back in a neat bun, and the only jewelry she wore was a locket from her mother with little drawings of her mother and father in them. 

She smiled happily as she left the Shire, her bag a comforting weight on her shoulder. “I do love winter,” she said to no one in particular. “I cannot wait for it to snow! Oh, that shall be lovely indeed.” Then she frowned as a realization hit her hard in the face. “So long as I’m indoors. Well, I’ll stay in Bree until winter passes and I can go on, I suppose.” Ruby’s smile returned, brighter than before. 

While she had never been to Bree-town herself, she had heard stories about it. A place where the Big Folk and Hobbits could mix freely, with a good sense of hospitality, too. With thoughts of warm inns and warmer food, Ruby lengthened her stride and picked up the pace. If she hurried, she could make it in just over a day. 

Now practically giggling with excitement, Ruby hurried onward. 

* * *

Pelinelon flitted through the trees, his white-blonde hair streaming after him. He missed running on ground, but leaving tracks would be tantamount to suicide. 

The marchwarden sent after him was brutal. Her name was Brassenien, and she was a force of chaotic fury who Pelinelon had always jokingly thought to have been sired by Morgoth himself. He could imagine her fury if that were true--as well as how she’d likely kill herself. 

He smirked.

For fifty years he’d fled, at first intending to dwell by the Sea, and then giving up hope when he realized Brassenien would never stop pursuing him. 

Even the Dark Lord and his hosts of _úgwann_ couldn’t stop her; until he faded and his _fae_ went to Mandos she would follow him. _Quite_ the predicament. 

With a grunt, Pelinelon stopped. 

He dropped from the tree onto bare rock, his boots making nary a sound as he landed. Dark-circled eyes darted about, watching the darkness for any movement. 

And then he ran, flying like a gust of wind across the rocks. _I must away lest she find me,_ was his refrain. 

_Keep moving. Keep moving._ **_KEEP MOVING…_ **

* * *

Mul, irritated to the bone and desperately fighting exhaustion, was quite done with travel. “Ow. Ow. Damn thorns!” 

As if to add insult to injury, his long hair tangled in a branch and stuck fast. “DAMMIT!” he shrieked. “I do not have _time_ for this shit! Fuckin’ _hair…”_

Fumbling for his knife, Mul hacked off the hair that was tangled in the branch. It now was jagged and fell to just below his shoulders instead of his waist. Shoving down the shame that bubbled up at this--no Uruk would ever be seen with hair shorter than to their mid-back--he continued on. 

Then he stopped. 

If he was going to have short hair, he’d at least braid it back for pride’s sake. He sat down and deftly braided two locks of hair on either side of his head halfway down, then pulled what was unbraided up into a tail, which he tied with a small strip of leather. 

Feeling considerably lighter, Mul stood and kept walking. 

There wasn’t anything too interesting to be seen, fortunately. Just foliage and the occasional animal. His knives were a comforting weight at his hips, reminding him that hunting would be easy should he need to do it. 

He wrapped his cloak tighter again as this thought crossed his mind. His supplies of food were running low again, and he could feel hunger start to gnaw at him the further he went. 

Not good. And yet, if he stopped--

He could feel them. The spirits whirling about in the forest, their thoughts edging towards acceptance of him, but still they terrified him. 

Mul didn’t know their names. He didn’t care to. 

Their strength was all he knew, and though they rested now, they would easily awaken. 

Easily destroy him. 

And so he pushed on, even as he felt himself growing weaker. 

* * *

Winter was dragging on ridiculously, at least for Ruby. 

Bree was warm and cheerful, as were the people, and she’d managed to secure a room at the _Prancing Pony_ for the next few months. 

However, it was boring, and she longed for adventure. It was now mid-February, and her patience was wearing thin. 

She’d decided, perhaps not so wisely, to leave within the next week. She couldn’t meet any Orcs in Bree, that was for certain. 

Her mind made up, she’d started to pack. She’d secured a pony, too--walking would slow her considerably. 

Eventually, she set off again, her saddlebags filled with all the things she needed. Her sling was strapped to her belt next to a pouch of rocks. 

The terrain was kind to her travels. It was open and grassy, with few rocks and trees. The weather was bright but cold. She barely felt this cold, bundled as she was in layers of fur and wool. In fact, she was almost sweating. 

She continued like this for almost a week before it happened. 

Ruby had come to a grove of trees, and she had dismounted to rest and refill her waterskins. A low growl assaulted her senses then, and she turned towards it. 

Then she stopped, heels digging into the ground. 

An Orc. He had sharp, angular features, and a blunt nose. His skin was dark, a brownish grey she didn’t know quite how to place. His hair was tied back in a tail, with two braids on either side of his face. His fangs were bared in a grimace and his pupils were slits. His eyes looked to be amber, and his pointed ears were back, almost like a cat’s. In each hand he held two long knives.

“Hoy,” he growled, voice a low rumble, “what the fuck’re you doin’?” 

Ruby’s blood ran cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Hate it? Let me know! Constructive criticism is always welcome!
> 
> On names: 
> 
> Muldhognûrz is pronounced ‘mull-dog-newrz’ (think Nazgûl for the ‘nûrz’ part) and Mul is pronounced ‘mull’. The name means ‘to travel far’. 
> 
> Sharkû - a name used by the Uruk-hai for Saruman.


	2. Over Rock And Under Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby Took gets a surprise encounter. Muldhognûrz should have seen something like this coming. Two Elleths are searching for the same person—for very different reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving if you’re in the USA!! Thank you to the lovely friend who left a comment; you have motivated me!!! 
> 
> “It’s dangerous business, going out your front door. You step into the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.” - JRR Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring.

Mul growled at the little creature, who simply looked taken aback. Then it brightened. “Oh, perfect! I’ve been hoping to meet an Orc!” it--no, she--chirped. “You must tell me everything! I’m Ruby, Ruby Took, by the way! And what’s your name?” 

Now it was Mul’s turn to be taken aback. “The fuck? What d’you mean, lookin’ for an Orc? Why the _fuck_ would you do that?” 

“I wanted to learn about you, that’s all! What’s your name?” 

“Muldhognûrz, and why d’you need it?” 

“I want to talk to you, and I can’t just call you Orc forever--” 

“Uruk,” he corrected almost automatically. “I’m an Uruk. World o’ difference there. I’m half Man, as well.” 

“Oh! Fascinating!” Ruby, as her name was apparently, dug out a journal from her bag and started scratching away at it. “How do you spell your name?” 

“Dunno. Can’t read. I know what it means, though: ’to travel far’, ‘cause I was always trying to wander off when I was born.” It was surprisingly easy to talk to this strange person, and he had at this point figured out she was no threat. _Not even any weapons on her! Good thing I ain’t lookin’ for a fight!_

“You like traveling?” 

“Guess so.” 

Her face contorted in puzzlement. “How do you not know?” 

“I’ve been runnin’ for my life.” He gave a half-hearted grin. “I guess I didn’t have time to figure out if I liked it or not.” 

“How awful! Would you mind traveling with me for a while? I’m sure it would be beneficial to both of us; you’d get company, I’d get to learn!” She beamed up at him, and with a start he realized she was just over half his height. His fingers twitched. 

“You mind holdin’ still for a sec?” 

“No, not at all! Why?” 

“Wanna draw you…hang on…” He dug out his sketchbook (a word he’d learned from watching the smiths at work) and set about doing a rough sketch of Ruby. 

“Um…Mule-dog-noorz.” 

“Mul’s fine.” 

“Well, then, Mul, can I see the drawing?” 

“Yeah, sure.” Mul tossed her the book. Ruby fumbled with it for a moment. Then she gaped. 

* * *

Ruby had never in all her years seen anyone draw something of her she actually liked. Her features were obviously exaggerated and simplified, but in a way that she looked endearing, almost like a character from a folktale. 

_All this in a moment!_ she marveled, eyes wide. “This is lovely!” 

“It is?” Mul asked nervously. He looked confused, and with a rush of sympathy, Ruby realized he’d likely never received a compliment for his drawings once in his life. 

“Of course! You have a true talent. Do you mind if I look through this?” 

He shook his head. “Nar, not at all. Want me to show you?” 

“That sounds lovely!” And so, in a strange twist of fate, Hobbit and Orc sat next to each other in peace and discussed a few drawings. 

* * *

Meanwhile, Pelinelon was panicking. He had no way of knowing where he was, not to mention he hadn’t eaten in a month and hadn’t slept in longer. He was tired, emaciated and exhausted, and so he collapsed. 

He slept for almost three days. 

When he woke on the third day, fear rose in his stomach and quickly took over his limbs. He started running again, ignoring the pangs of hunger in his stomach and the aches of his tired body. 

Why was he running? Behind him he could hear quick footsteps, and an all-too-familiar voice swearing as he fled. Brassenien had caught up with him. 

* * *

The rogue had fled like the coward he was. Brassenien felt a grim sense of satisfaction, her eyes glinting. She’d let him have a head start. Then she’d get him.

Her sharp grey eyes scanned the area. No sign of him; at least the twit had remembered to cover his tracks. That would make things more interesting--wait. 

He’d left something. Not anything too important, surely, or he would have come back. She stalked forward and grabbed it. His wedding ring. _Well. That traitor will be missing this. Best return it to him…_

* * *

Mul looked over at Ruby where she slept; he couldn’t. His stomach roiled as his mind ran over everything that would happen if he went with her to this Bree place. 

_Heads on spikes. Burnt bodies. Face down on the ground, arrows through his back…_

He threw up. Wiping his mouth, he scowled. _What the fuck? You’re not normally squeamish like this!_

“Hmm?” Ruby started awake and sat up abruptly. “Oh! Oh, are you all right?” 

“I’m fine.” Mul smiled weakly. “Just a little nervous.” He fiddled with one of the wide leather strips of his armor’s kilt. 

“You _vomited—_ here, I’ll make some tea…”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to. Besides, that’s what friends are for!” Ruby grinned at him. Mul smiled back shyly, then startled as she grabbed her tea kettle.

He had never seen one before. His eyes popped wide at its strange shape, and he became even more confused when she started the actual act of brewing tea. “The fuck’re you doin’?” he asked, ears flicking nervously. Ruby looked over at him. 

  
“Making tea. Haven’t you ever had tea before?” 

  
“Nar. Don’t think so, at least. I ain’t ever seen one of you before, either, but I guess there’s a first for everythin’.” Mul shrugged. 

* * *

Ruby thought she’d never felt so sorry for anyone in her life. Imagine a place where you couldn’t get a hot cup of tea? Heavens, but that would be awful! She shuddered briefly. And the poor dear was clearly terrified--once they got to Bree, she’d set that to rights and no mistake! 

Ruby shook her head sadly. “No tea! Imagine,” she muttered as she put the kettle on. 

Mul looked over at her. “I can hear you.” 

“Oh. Right. Of course. I just can’t imagine anyone not having had tea before.” 

“Just didn’t have it where I’m from, I guess.” They sat in contemplative silence for what couldn’t have been more than a few moments, then the kettle whistled. 

Both jumped. Ruby sighed and went about pouring the tea into two small cups she had with her. 

“All right,” she said once done with this. “I find a good cup of tea always goes best with a good story. Do you know any?” 

“Only one. Kinda creepy, though.” 

“You can tell me.” 

So he did. Here is what the story said: 

_Once, long ago, there was a great and powerful King of Darkness._

_He ruled with an iron fist, and those under his rule feared him enough that they didn’t rise up against him. His name is remembered only as Morgoth, but it is said he had others once._

_After many centuries of the Elves and Men battling his forces, his brother, the King of gods, swept down from his mountain throne with all the other gods and defeated the King of Darkness. He threw him into the Void, where stars live and none who have gone return._

_The gods chained Morgoth to a world made of diamond, next to a star that pulsed gold to prevent anyone from discovering his prison. Morgoth, furious, let out a scream that went out into the world. Wherever it went, an excess of power went also._

_This power made itself known when a Ranger of Gondor died and was resurrected as a Wraith. It is said he transcended mortality and became a god, so that he could never again be with his wife or son. He wrapped himself in death and became its lord, and those who followed him did not ever die._

_Eventually, he hid himself and his followers away so that his enemies could not find them. No one has seen him since, but it is told by some he went to the fortress of a god who had served Morgoth long ago. There he remains, to this day._

Before Ruby realized, she’d finished her tea. Her mouth hung open in shock. “How delightfully scary! Just think of it…oh my, what a story!” 

“Akh. I told you.” He looked worried all of a sudden. “Didn’t…scare you, did I?”

“Not much! I have always loved a good scary story, after all. Do you feel better now?”

Mul smiled at her. “Yeah, I guess I do.” 

* * *

Snowflakes danced through the air, and Berenil huffed, her breath a puff of steam on the nipping wind. She muttered a quick prayer to Ulmo and Manwë before stepping into the inn. 

“Hello,” she said to the first person she saw. “Have you seen my brother, Pelinelon?” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Mul’s story:
> 
> The King is gods referenced is Manwë. The Ranger of Gondor is a reference to the video games Shadow of Mordor and Shadow of War, and the fortress referenced is indeed Barad-dûr. Mul has heard a folktale version of the actual events, but as to the real ones…That’s all I can say right now. ;)
> 
> After this, I will go on a bit of a hiatus because I’d like to be ahead a few chapters so I can post regularly. I don’t know when I’ll return at the moment, so Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, whatever you celebrate this time of year, have fun, stay safe, and enjoy! 
> 
> As always, comments are motivation and advice; please leave one! If you don’t like something about this, tell me how to fix it! Just don’t be mean.


	3. By Caves Where Never Sun Has Shone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mul reminisces, Ruby tries to calm him down. Berenil gains a horse and a captor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this one being kind of short. I felt that I couldn’t really add anything to it. (Yes, the title is a Disney reference. Figure it out and Saturn the cat will purr at you!) Enjoy!

They were almost to Bree, now. Fear still coursed through Mul’s blood--a town of Men. For the first time since leaving Isengard, he longed for his shield-brothers. _Dunagori. Gramkoth. Gledsdrôt._ Their names cycled through his head on repeat. 

He could picture them easily: Dunagori’s easy grin, Gramkoth’s scowl that was still soft around the edges, Gledsdrôt’s cackling laugh. Even his sister, Gondurzbazg, her eyes wide with amazement at some stunt they’d managed to pull off without getting caught. 

Still, even with the happiest memories, Isengard’s misery managed to invade each one of them. _Gledsdrôt, half-mad with infection and fever, cackling like a madman. Dunagori coughing up blood but hiding it beneath a joking grin so no one would worry. The scars on Gramkoth’s back from too much mouthing off, his scowl when someone noticed. Gondurzbazg with a broken nose from fending off an attacker, amazed at her own strength._

Mul felt sick again. His breath hitched and he choked. Ruby, riding her pony beside him, gasped. “Oh no, are you going to be sick?” she asked. 

“No.” His voice shook when he spoke, and he blinked away tears. _You are an Uruk, you don’t cry! You do not know pain or fear!_ Saruman’s voice, so irritatingly familiar, sneered. Mul snarled at it. Saruman had no power over him, not anymore. 

“If you need anything, I’m right here.” She smiled and patted his shoulder.

“Narnûlubat.” 

“Huh?”

“Closest I can get to ‘thanks’ in Orcish.”

“Oh. At any rate, we’ll be there in…maybe a day? I’m not sure.” 

“Great. They’ll get to kill me sooner.”

“Oh, dear, no! I won’t let them. Not even a Ranger can withstand a Hobbit’s determination,” Ruby said rather smugly. 

“I ain’t ever seen a Ranger, so I’ll believe you.” He cracked a weak grin. 

“They’re Men in cloaks who carry swords and help to protect Bree. They’re quite kind most of the time.” 

“Most,” Mul pointed out. “Probably not to Orcs.” 

“True.”

They travelled in silence for a while, and then Ruby started singing. 

_Easy, easy, easy now_

_Over, onwards, upwards_

_Dancing on and on_

_Since the dawning day_

_They’ve all had their fun_

_When the Sun goes dashing by_

_And Moon goes treading through the sky_

_They dance together, can’t you see_

_Or is it all just me?_

_Easy, easy, easy now_

_Over, onwards, upwards_

_Dancing on and on_

_SInce the dawning day_

_They’ve all had their fun_

_Darkness shrouds the forest dark_

_And fleeting sailors soon to disembark_

_The lady and her lord go flying_

_Watch them, they’re crying_

_Easy, easy, easy, now_

_Over, onwards, upwards_

_Dancing on and on_

_Since the dawning day_

_They’ve all had their fun_

_Dashing, twisting, hurling reel_

_The demon head over heel_

_When fire’s done it’s blazing_

_Off they go razing_

_Easy, easy, easy, now_

_Over, onwards, upwards_

_Dancing on and on_

_Since the dawning day_

_They’ve all had their fun!_

She giggled when Mul started snapping his fingers to the song around halfway through and sang louder as he did. She was completely uncaring of the fact that someone might hear: all that mattered was that it was fun. Goodness knew they both needed some silliness in the looming threat of what might happen in Bree!

She’d sung the song twice before they both grew tired of it. Mul and Ruby exchanged a glance and burst out laughing. 

“That…that’s the silliest song I’ve ever heard.”

“They have songs where you’re from?”

“Yeah. Mostly about war.” 

“I have never heard of Orcs singing.” Ruby’s gaze was pinched in the way it was when she was confused. Mul had struggled reading her at first because her ears didn’t move, but he’d gotten used to only focusing on her face.

“That’s ‘cause we don’t do it much. We ain’t _Elves,_ for Void’s sake.” He grinned, miming an elegant Elf. 

“Elves do sing a lot, from what I’ve heard!”

“So do Men.” Again, both laughed, imagining a choir of very piously singing Elves and Men, with an audience of very confused Hobbits and Orcs. (Ruby had explained choirs to Mul very early on, having been in one in her youth.)

“In dresses!” Ruby howled.

Now imagining the choir in dresses like Ruby’s or the peasants of Rohan (the only type of dresses he’d ever seen), Mul doubled over, practically sobbing with laughter.

* * *

Berenil had received useful information from the patrons of the inn, and was also now the proud owner of a very depressed mare. At least, she seemed depressed, because the only noise she ever made was a sort of long-suffering sigh. Still, the horse was well built and fast, and she was able to keep a steady pace throughout the day. 

She only had to find her brother. She had only to find him, somehow manage to hide him…she knew of people by the sea who could take them in, or maybe they could even hide in Bree-town. 

_What a truly horrible state of affairs!_ She halted the horse; Demroch, as she had named the mare, obeyed immediately. Berenil listened with caution. The wind whistled through the snow-covered trees, shaking the soft piles from their branches. Now thanking Vairë and Aulë for her warm cloak and the light sword she drew now, she dismounted. 

Berenil’s sharp eyes watched the forest before her. Behind her, Demroch let out a nervous sigh. 

“Hush,” she admonished the horse in a low tone. Suddenly, she spun, her blade catching the man’s behind her. 

He grinned. “Lucky guess, little Elf.” His eyes glowed a sudden, shocking blue, and Berenil’s vision went black. Just before it did, though, she heard him murmur, “Lucky guess indeed…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Uruk names: Dunagori, Gledsdrôt, and Gramkoth are all combinations of Old English and Orcish, while Muldhognûrz and Gondurzbazg are fully Orcish because they’re a bit younger. The older an Uruk, the more Rohirric the name! 
> 
> On Ruby’s song: I wrote this! Like a poem! Because I cannot actually write music! Just imagine a pub song, basically. 
> 
> On Berenil’s part of the story: *evil laughter* Yes, the horse is named ‘sad horse’ in Sindarin hehe…
> 
> Please leave a comment! I can start updating more regularly now that I’m a bit ahead, which is nice, but comments are still motivation!


	4. By Streams That Never Find The Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berenil meets her mysterious captor. Mul and Ruby arrive in Bree, and receive useful information. Pelinelon has found a safe place—or has he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay quick quick note: Mul has a lot of Issues and there is a slight reference to self-harm in this chapter. It’s right after the first POV switch, so feel free to skip it if this is an issue for you! Stay safe!

Talion was unhampered by the cold. The dead felt nothing, after all. He sneered, blue eyes glinting in the dark. _Nice try, little Elf._

He spun his Power into the earth and ripped at the ground, vines of earth spinning up in hideous tendrils to drag the Elf into the darkness, to hide her from everyone so that none would know of his presence there. 

Talion followed the tendrils of rock and soil and root into the ground, into his lair. 

* * *

Bree was within sight now. Ruby could practically see Mul’s muscles tensing. She’d never seen anyone walk so stiffly in her life. “It’ll be alright,” she soothed, half-directed at him and half at herself. 

His only reply was little more than a grunt. They had been traveling together for more than two weeks now, and her throat tightened to see her friend so clearly miserable. He stopped suddenly and shook his head frantically. “I can’t do this. They’ll fuckin’ kill me.” His breath quickened. 

“They won’t. I’ll think of something,” Ruby assured him. Still, Mul looked like he was about to throw up. 

Ruby bit her lip. _I have a bad feeling about this._ What if someone panicked? What if—

But there was no time for what-ifs, because they were already there. The gatekeeper let them in, but kept a wary eye on Mul, whose face was hidden behind a hood and a scarf. 

* * *

Once again, Mul was about to be sick. He wanted to kick something, to scream or claw, but if he did that he would die. Fear consumed his entire body, yellow eyes darting about so fast his head was spinning. 

Mul choked back a whimper, scolding himself for being so weak. His knives at his sides were suddenly even more of a comfort. 

Trying desperately to keep his instincts in check, he walked with Ruby to the inn she told him was called _The Prancing Pony._ Whatever that meant. He wished he had his shield-brothers with him again. 

Gulping, he pushed open the door and followed Ruby into the inn. It was a loud place, filled with Men and Hobbits, and a few people who looked like diluted Orcs. 

“I’m back!” she announced proudly to the man she went up to. “Angmaen, this is Mul. Remember how I told you I wanted to meet an Orc? Well, I met one—sort of, he’s only half…” Ruby grinned at Angmaen, who shook his head. 

“It is a wonder you are unharmed, Miss Took. Orcs are a vicious race. But, if you trust him, I shall try to do so as well.” 

Mul relaxed a little. “I’ll do the same for you. Ruby ain’t gonna let me live it down if I don’t.” He removed the scarf, revealing his face. “I ain’t gonna try anythin’, I swear.” 

“By what do you swear, Orc?” Angmaen snapped. 

“The…uh…the Weaver, she ain’t all that bad.” 

“You swear by one of the Valar? I confess, I have never heard of such a thing.” 

“I don’t know, dammit! We just call ‘em gods!” Mul snapped. 

Angmaen sighed when Ruby gave him her Look. “I apologize. I have spent my life slaying Orcs, not…making friends with them. Still, I promised I would try and trust you, and I am a man of my word.” He nodded stiffly. 

“Thank you!” Ruby huffed. “Now, I’m starving, let’s eat.” 

Mul pulled down his hood and quickly let his hair down to at least try and hide his ears. The Man arched an eyebrow. “Hm. How long do you plan to stay in Bree?” he asked Ruby. 

“Oh, a month or so.”

“In that case, I believe I know someone who may help you.”

“Who?”

“I only know her as Grandmama. She is quite kind. I am certain she will allow you both to stay with her for a time; Miss Took, I find it unlikely that you have the money to stay here for a month.”

“You’d be right. My funds are quite low, and Mul’s are nonexistent save for his earrings, which he probably will not part with.” 

Mul grunted. He wasn’t honestly sure what to say to any of this. “Well,” he said finally, “hope she doesn’t mind Orcs too much.” Ruby nodded happily. Angmaen smiled faintly.

“All right, then. Come with me, I’ll show you to her home…”

* * *

Berenil woke up to complete darkness save for a pair of glowing blue eyes. “Hello, little Elf.” 

“What—what do you want with me?” 

“Nothing much! Just a little bit of help. You see, a friend of mine owes another Elf—who looks remarkably like you by the way—a rather large debt. Involving her life, and her husband’s.” 

“What’s his name?”

“Pelinelon. He’s being chased by a lovely lady named Brassenien, is that correct?” 

“Yes.” Berenil’s heart jolted. _He knows about my brother!_ “Do you know where he is?” 

“No, but I have heard he is headed this way.” 

“Thank the Valar!” 

“Do not thank the gods. They care nothing for us.”

* * *

The town of Men was near, and no sign of Brassenien. Pelinelon didn’t stop running until he was past the gatekeeper and handing him whatever jewelry he could spare to keep anyone named Brassenien out. 

Then, darting towards what he thought might be an inn, he failed to see something—or some _one—_ watching him. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, the gang’s all here! Well, actually Berenil is in a neighboring village, but she’s nearby! 
> 
> So, about Mul’s POV and why he’s panicking so much (WARNING MENTIONS OF TORTURE/ABUSE): 
> 
> Isengard is brutal. And here’s the thing; that’s because Saruman has always hated Orcs (he’s fought them) and his opinion on them didn’t change. Whereas Sauron kinda thinks of them like his kids because “I MADE THAT it is MINE!” So he tends to treat them better. Saruman just despises Orcs and Rohirrim and he combined them. So his Uruk-hai are commonly beaten, experimented on, tortured, and ritually sacrificed (I have a story about a sacrifice planned, so.). 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment or kudos (preferably both!) if you liked it or if you want to tell me anything to improve! I will be going on a Christmas hiatus, so you won’t see me for the next two weeks! But! I love you guys and hope you enjoy whatever holiday you’re celebrating! *tackle hugs and hands out candy*


	5. Over Snow By Winter Sown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelinelon has met Ruby and Mul, and misses his family. Mul does too. We learn something about Grandmama. Berenil and Talion are a different (and creepier) story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Explicit depictions of blood and implied death. If this upsets you, please skip Berenil’s POV. Seriously.

Grandmama, as it turned out, was a cheerful, red-faced old woman who was almost as wide as she was tall. Her smile lit up the room when she saw she had visitors, and she bustled off to the kitchen soon after Angmaen left. 

Soon, the air filled with warm, delicious smells. Ruby noticed Mul pitching his blunt nose into the air and smelling deeply, a rumbling purr bubbling up in his throat. 

With another pang of sadness, Ruby realized he had probably never smelled anything like this in his life. 

She said so, and he grinned before replying. “Akh. Ain’t smelled anythin’ like this before. Ain’t a bad smell, either.” 

Grandmama continued her bustling and before Ruby had even finished teaching an unreasonably confused Mul how to set a table there was food there. 

Specifically, so much food Ruby had no idea what to do with herself. Ruby had a relatively large appetite even for Hobbits, yet this topped it all. How could one woman cook so much in so little time? Even if it had been six hours, surely a meal this size took longer than that.

A knock at the door interrupted them. Grandmama got up and opened the door, then gasped. “Oh, hello! My, you look ill! Here, come in and get warm, I’ll fix you a plate, dearie!”

The Elf who entered only looked confused and said something in a strange, lilting language. Grandmama smiled and responded in kind. 

They spoke for a moment, then the Elf murmured, “Le athae,” ducking his head so his white hair covered his almost-as-white face. 

“I ‘ell nîn.” Grandmama smiled brightly at him before turning back to Mul and Ruby. “This is Pelinelon. He’ll be joining us for dinner--and by the looks of him he’ll be staying the night. My goodness! The poor thing looks half dead!” She clucked her tongue. 

“Ma i beth an ‘le athae’ be Annúnaid?” Pelinelon asked. 

“‘Thank you’ i beth.” 

“Thank…you.” 

* * *

Pelinelon watched the Maia closely. She took the form of an old woman, yet she was not one. That much was clear. 

She called herself Grandmother. She was old enough to be the Lady Galadriel’s. Dimly, he noticed the Orc at her table. No matter. He had dealt with worse, and she had told him the Orc was safe. 

It eyed him, growling something in its coarse tongue that made him wince but was likely just Orcish for ‘Elf.’

“His name is Muldhognûrz,” the Grandmother said. “Call him Mul.”

“Mul.” The word felt odd on Pelinelon’s tongue, meant for a language rougher than his own.

“Akh?” A questioning cough. 

The Grandmother said something in Westron and the Orc swiftly turned back to the halfling. He wanted to groan. Of course an Orc didn’t know Sindarin! He should have just stayed silent and let them believe he was mute. 

He started eating slowly. The food was different than most others he’d had before, but not in a bad way. The woman handed him a pastry; some kind of fried, crunchy dough with a sweet cream filling. He ate two of those, then sat back and watched the others eat. 

The halfling, he noticed, ate full portions of everything on the table. The Orc ate swiftly and guarded his food as if afraid it would be stolen. Pelinelon realized that this Orc was taller than his sister (how strange) and felt a song of homesickness. 

His sweet, tiny sister, Berenil, who dreamed of following in her elder brother’s footsteps and becoming and marchwarden. His mother and father, so proud of both their children. His beloved Sírdaliel, waiting anxiously for her husband to return, and then weeping when he was forced to flee, banished and hunted. 

His breath hitched and he began to weep softly, letting out the tears he’d held in all the years he’d run. 

* * *

The Elf was sobbing. Unsure of what to do, Mul retreated to a corner to sharpen his knives while Ruby comforted him. 

_Better safe than sorry,_ he thought grimly. When he was satisfied with the sharpness of the blades, he resheathed them in the scabbards strapped to his thighs. 

Next order of business was to draw the Elf. 

Pelinelon was all sharp angles, the shadows flitting over his face as he wailed in a language Mul didn’t understand. The Uruk had never seen anyone cry so much in his life—well, besides the whiteskins when you killed other whiteskins. 

Mul finished the sketch and moved on to one of Grandmama, then, out of sheer desperation for normalcy, sketched each of his shield-brothers in turn. 

First, Gramkoth and Dunagori, their foreheads pressed together. Gledsdrôt, his face animated as he told some exaggerated tale of his exploits. Gondurzbazg, her mouth a hard line as she held her necklace of prayer beads she had stolen from one of the Mordor Orcs. 

Almost instinctively, he went on drawing, filling three pages with Dunagori and Gramkoth figuring out all the ways they could cling to each other back when they were just mated. Two more of Gledsdrôt, each time with someone different on his arm or a grin on his face. Two more just drawing his sister over and over again. 

“Fuckin’ Void,” he heard himself mutter.

“Language!” Grandmama huffed. “What did your parents teach you?” 

“Nothin’. Never met ‘em. Got a dam and a sire, just don’t know who.” 

“Well, I never! An orphan, are you?”

“Nar. Where I come from, we don’t ever meet our parents. Didn’t even think about it ‘til Ruby mentioned her.”

“Why not?” Ruby asked. The Elf was, apparently, suitably calmed, although he still looked miserable. 

“Uh…” Mul felt awkward. The Elf was in greater need of fussing than one Uruk among thousands. “Just…they take us, and stick us in the ground, and we come out like this, but maybe a bit younger.” He grinned. “I got ten winters.” 

_“Ten?”_ Ruby squawked. “I’m thirty-three! That--I’m _twenty-three years older than you?”_

Mul swallowed. He’d thought she knew his age. “Yeah. Didn’t I tell you?” 

“No! You mentioned a twin sister, and that’s it!” Ruby shook her head. “Maybe…oh, you’ve been drawing again! Can I see?” 

“Sure.” Alarmed by the sudden change in topic, and then even more so when the Elf moved over to look as well, he opened the sketchbook. 

“Why, that’s me!” Grandmama said. “I look very happy. Thank you, dear!” 

The Elf touched his portrait and smiled softly. He said something in his language and gave a watery chuckle. 

“Is that your sister?” Ruby asked, pointing to Gondurzbazg. “She looks like you, a bit. Otherwise I would have thought she was a man.” 

“Yeah, that’s Bazg. Shit, no, don’t look at--I warned you.” 

“They did that in front of you?” Ruby asked, eyes so wide it looked silly. Her face had turned red from embarrassment.   
  


“Why wouldn’t they?” 

“That’s private!”

“Weren’t no privacy in the barracks. I _knew_ you’d react like this.” The Elf, watching as well, looked like he might vomit.

“I see. And this one looks _very_ confident.” Ruby giggled, but whether it was at the Elf or the drawing he couldn’t tell.

“That’s Gledsdrôt, and yeah, he was. Little too much; got whipped a lot.” 

“Yuck! Oh, your sister liked jewelry?”

“What? No, that’s a religious thing. Always had ‘em.” 

“Hmph! Good for her,” Grandmama said, nodding. “Religion is like a good luck charm--always good to have around, but don’t rely on it too much.” 

Strangely, the Elf nodded vigorously at Grandmama’s statement. 

* * *

Calmly, as if he had done this thousands of times before, Talion slit his throat. His blood dripped sluggishly down his front, and he choked on it. Berenil winced. She wanted to pray, and yet here in this secluded forest with this strange man, no god seemed present. 

_This forest’s only god stands in front of me,_ she realized. Talion’s face showed no emotion. Blue eyes held hers as he bled, dark hair falling over his eyes as his face paled. He fell. 

Berenil groaned. Arrogant man! Thinking himself above death, when it came for him swiftly-- 

His eyes opened. Talion smiled bloodily, head rolling. “Hm,” he mused, spitting blood onto the ground, “that was far too easy. She was willing to speak to me.” 

“Who?” 

“That is my business.” 

“Very well. How does this pertain to my brother?” 

“He is near--very near, though I do not know _precisely_ where.” Talion sat up, idly dragging a finger through his now drying blood and sticking it into his mouth. Berenil caught a glimpse of teeth too sharp to be any mortal Man’s. His expression was thoughtful. 

“Hm. He is _safe,_ but not _out of danger._ Blood is blood is blood is _death_ …and gone, gone, gone, is the icy blaze.” A sneer curled his lip. “No, not stopping this endangerment as yet.” 

“What do you mean?” Berenil asked, struggling to keep the quiver of fear out of her voice. 

  
“Come closer.” Talion beckoned. She knelt in front of him after a moment's hesitation.

Suddenly, he moved swiftly forward and kissed her on the mouth. She tasted something metallic—of course it had to be blood!

A torrent of images and feelings raced through her mind: Bree, amusement, irritation, this forest, and then Pelinelon sitting with an Orc, an old woman, and a Hobbit, and smiling. 

The connection broke, and Berenil fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back!!! There will be regular updates for a while now: I’m working on chapter 9 as we speak (It’s fighting me). Please comment: polite feedback is always appreciated! (PS the pastry Pelinelon eats is cannoli, which is a tube of fried dough with a cream filling and chocolate shavings/chips usually in there as well. It’s delicious!)


	6. Eyes That Fire And Sword Have Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelinelon has many issues, and Mul has no idea how to help. Berenil learns something strange about her terrifying companion. Ruby has some turmoil. Grandmama is very done with all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Attempted suicide (it’s not too graphic, but it is there), and a brief mention of racism (hint: Talion is not your average man of Gondor). Both are handled with as much caution as I can, but please do be warned that they are there.

Pelinelon watched the others sleep. He couldn’t sleep, paralyzed by the knowledge that Brassenien was close. She wouldn’t give her name to anyone; he had been a fool to try and prevent her. 

Wrapping his arms around himself, he eyed the other inhabitants of the Maia’s house. Escape was easier said than done. He would have to avoid waking the not-really-sleeping Maia, the Orc who was probably only ever _on_ alert, and the halfling’s no doubt impeccable hearing. 

Pelinelon shivered. He’d have to leave without them knowing and even then, who knew how much longer he could evade Brassenien? 

_Not long,_ he thought grimly. _Not long at all._ He wished things could be simple again, that he could just go home to Lothlórien and see his family again. 

_You can’t,_ taunted a voice far too similar to Brassenien’s. _You aided the forces of darkness. You are disgusting._

He thought of what the Maia had translated to him of the Orc’s speaking. _His name is Mul. He has never known parents. He has grown up under threat of a whip and worse. He had someone else’s voice in his head for most of his life. He’s only ten._

Then, in his own voice, _if he can persevere, so can you._

With a weak sob, Pelinelon buried his head in his arms.

The Orc’s ear twitched. He woke up with a jolt, yellow eyes glinting in the dark. His growl of a voice asked a question in Westron.

When he saw Pelinelon, his ears flattened. Muttering something that was probably a curse, he sat down beside the Elf and awkwardly wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

The former marchwarden could feel himself relaxing, but only just. Once more he began to weep. 

* * *

Mul wished he had just stayed in Isengard. At least there, no foolish Elves would wake him up with their wailing. 

He took a deep breath. “Look, uh, Pelinelon. Just…you’re gonna be fine, all right? It’s not all that bad, yeah?” He hoped the Elf wasn’t well-versed in Orcish ear movements, because Mul’s very much back ears would not help.

“Ai!” the Elf wailed, loud enough that now Ruby was awake too. 

“You poor thing!” she gasped. “Mul, is he all right?”

“Kinda soakin’ my shoulder, so no.” Mul grinned awkwardly. 

“For heavens—Mul. Crying is not something to joke about.”

“Then how the fuck d’you lot get over it?”

“That’s not the point! He’s clearly lost, and alone, and…I’m getting Grandmama. She’ll know what to do.”

The Elf reached suddenly for Mul’s knives. Moving on pure instinct, Mul threw himself away out of Pelinelon's reach. “Fuck, no way. I know what you wanna do with those and I ain’t helpin’ you with it!” The Elf seemed confused, and Mul remembered he didn’t speak Westron. 

“Right. So. No death. None.” He placed his hands on his knives and shook his head to emphasize his point.

Pelinelon tilted his head, eyes narrowed. Confusion, maybe.

Again, Mul sighed. Maybe he should just—

And then Grandmama came in. “What is going on? First I hear that poor Pelinelon is weeping again, then that you can’t comfort anyone properly, and now that apparently, I have to keep sharp things away from—”

The Elf looked at her and said something, again in that strange language.

The old woman looked shocked. “Impossible…” she murmured. 

* * *

Ruby eyed Mul where he sat, crouched with his hand covering the two scabbards he wore at his thighs. _Pelinelon must have tried to take the knives from him._ She felt like crying. _Somehow this is my fault._

Mul stood up, a fluid motion that surprised Ruby a bit. She jumped. His ears went back. 

“Ain’t your fault,” he said quietly, coming to stand next to her. She’d nearly forgotten how much taller than her he was. “Don’t give me that,” he continued when she shot him a startled look, “I know guilt when I see it.” 

“I…if I hadn’t gone seeking out adventure, we wouldn’t have met, and Pelinelon wouldn’t have been able to get to your knives, and—”

“If I hadn’t deserted, we wouldn’t have met,” Mul snapped. “If I weren’t a traitor. You wanderin’ off ain’t got fuck all to do with it. ‘Sides, it don’t matter now. Can’t change the past.” 

Surprised and embarrassed, Ruby’s eyes widened. “I suppose you’re right.” 

He shrugged. “Basic fact of life: you fuck shit up, you pay the price, you move on. End of story.” 

“I know some people several times your age who haven’t figured that out yet.” 

* * *

Pelinelon watched as the Maia’s face changed to shock. “You have to go, then. Take those two with you, please, that poor boy was going to collapse if he stayed another day!” 

“Thank you, good lady. Might I ask your name?”

“You may not! It’s Grandmother or nothing, these days.” She huffed. “I’ll pack you all food for the journey.” 

“Thank you again.” 

“Oh, and Pelinelon?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t try and harm yourself ever again, do you hear me?”

Pelinelon nodded, ashamed. She softened. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself. Many have thoughts like yours. You should just focus on trying to be rid of the feelings that cause this. Try and find the good in life.” 

* * *

Berenil woke embarrassed and tasting blood in her mouth. Talion’s, she remembered. He’d kissed her as a way to transfer images into her mind. She decided it was not _so_ bad; at least he wasn’t a bad kisser. 

His eyes gleamed from the shadows and she startled. “Again? Really? I would have expected more from an Elf.”

“How did you do that?” she croaked. 

“What? The blood thing? I’m dead, little Elf. It doesn’t hurt so much.” 

“Berenil.”

“What?”

“My name. Berenil.” 

“Pretty. You’re still small.” 

“I’m not!” 

“You are. I am at least a foot taller than you are. Tall I may be, but you are short.” 

“Hmph! Well, then you are an Orc-lover!” 

“Is it that obvious?”

“It was just an insult!” 

“An accurate one. I’m impressed.” 

“Impressed?” Berenil eyed him in horror. _An Orcish lover? Disgusting!_

“I miss him,” Talion murmured, sitting down next to Berenil. “I left him behind when I went to do…this…and I wish I hadn’t.” 

“How…lovely.” Berenil thought she’d vomit. “Does he have a name?” 

“A…yes. Ratbag.” 

  
“Did you love him?” Now she wasn’t entirely certain what she was doing. 

“What kind of a question is that? Of course I do.” Talion’s eyes narrowed. For the first time, Berenil noticed that his eyes had a slight slant to them and that he had a flatter nose than most Men she’d seen.   
  


“Where are you from?” she found herself asking. 

“Gondor. I’m not of Númenorean descent, that’s all.” He shrugged. 

“A Rhavan?” 

“If you call me that ever again, I will rip you limb from limb and devour your soul.” His eyes glowed for a moment. 

“Sorry.” They lapsed into awkward silence for a moment. Then, “I didn’t realize that was rude.” 

“It means ‘wild man’. If that’s not rude, I don’t know what is.” 

Again, silence. Berenil stood up. “Well, what is there to do now?”

“Go to Bree, of course. We may be able to catch your brother there.” 

* * *

They wouldn’t have, even had they known he was preparing to leave. “And make sure you don’t run into trouble!” Grandmama fussed over the three of them for a moment, then paused. “I should warn you--you won’t get past that forest or what lives in it without help. Well, _you_ might,” she said thoughtfully, pointing at Mul. 

“Why me?” he growled, affronted. 

“You’re an Orc. Don’t give me that, He likes Orcs.” 

“Who’s ‘He’?” Ruby asked. 

“The Deathless One in the forest.” 

“Him?” Mul went pale. “Fuck.” 

“What?” Ruby asked. She looked desperately confused. 

“The man who became a god.” 

“WHAT? I thought he was gone!” 

“In the story, not in real life!” 

Ruby buried her face in her hands. “Why? Why can’t we have a single bit of luck?” she wailed. 

“You managed to find me,” Grandmama pointed out. “And sadly, you’ll have to sell some things. You need money for provisions and such. Those two have jewelry, but I am guessing Mul’s earrings have symbolism and Pelinelon has likely already parted with much of his.” 

“I’ll sell what I can’t carry,” Ruby said firmly. She eyed the Elf and the Uruk. “Do you two have anything to get rid of?” 

Mul shook his head. “I got nothin’ to sell.” After Grandmama translated, Pelinelon shook his head as well. 

“No sell.” 

Ruby nodded. “Of course.” She sighed. _I suppose I should go do that, then._

When they had finished preparing for the journey and had left, Ruby noticed Mul visibly relaxed, and Pelinelon did too. 

When night fell, and Ruby began to tire--she’d sold her pony to a man named Bill Ferny--Mul picked her up and slung her onto his back. He broke into a loping run, and Pelinelon followed. Rocked to sleep by the rhythmic motion, Ruby’s eyes closed and she started to snore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished chapter 9, and chapter 10 is also almost done (lots of action. Lots of it)! *sighs* Unfortunately, after this I have to go do Real Life Things, and will be very busy all day. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I’ll see you next week for chapter 7!


	7. And Horror In The Halls Of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mul, Ruby, and Pelinelon are off on their journey. Talion is now determined to be involved. Berenil is just glad to see her brother again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real warnings for this chapter! (Unless Talion being here is a warning? Nah!) Enjoy!
> 
> Also, I have now finished writing this entire story. You might have noticed the chapter count is now a concrete thing rather than a question mark, and that’s because I’ve finished writing this fic! I hope you enjoy what’s coming!

Mul was fine with dead weight. He’d carried Dunagori, once, when he’d passed out drunk in the mess hall and Gramkoth wasn’t much better. Dunagori was larger than Mul, and heavier--he was certainly much larger than Ruby. 

So running all night with her slung across his back wasn’t hard, no. Running next to an Elf was harder. He didn’t trust the Elf at _all._

_I’ll just toss ‘im to the Gravewalker and be done with it._ The sun rose, and Pelinelon suddenly ground to a halt. Mul stopped as well, the sudden movement waking Ruby. 

“Huh?” she asked blearily. 

“Deathless. Near?” Pelinelon was unsurprisingly fast at picking up Westron words. 

“Yeah.” That explained the Elf’s nervousness. Mul felt no emotion whatsoever. His blank mask, the one he donned in Isengard, had settled back on as if it had never left. 

“Yeah?” Pelinelon asked, stumbling over the word. 

“Yes. It means yes.”

They fall into stony silence. _Fuck this shit. I ain’t dealin’ with this right now._

“I wish he could understand us,” Ruby said quietly. “This would be so much easier then.” 

“Guess so. And he’s learnin’ it from me, which ain’t good.”

“Why not?” 

“I speak two other languages. Learned Westron third. Orcish is my best.” 

“I’ll teach him, I suppose. If Westron is your worst language, I’ll have to.”

“Narnûlubat.” 

“You’re welcome!”

Mul grinned. “You remembered.”

“I made a note of it in my journal.” 

“Makes sense, I guess.” He reached out and ruffled her hair, a casual gesture she’d never experienced him doing before, but one often exchanged amongst Uruk-hai. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with—hang on.” 

He pitched his nose in the air. “Htol. Htolûrz pushdug Gorunshara…Nânt-shi za graus ir-izishu.” 

“Akh, zab-izg. Kalsharalâm? Lat zab-za khlârum.” The man slipped from the trees, a curtain of brown hair hanging in his face. A knife-sharp grin stretched across his face. 

“Akh, nân Uruklâm mâmar-izub.” 

“Tarklâm-izub.” Mul grimaced.

“Fuckin’ figures.” The man—no, Talion, the transcendent—frowned suddenly. 

“If you speak Kalsharalâm, then why is your hair—oh, Void…” 

Once again, Mul found himself swallowing shame. “It…uh, it got in the way…” He brushed a hand through his too-short hair. Talion stepped forward cautiously and touched his shoulder. 

“Gâkh-lat shmbâl nokhar,” Talion murmured, blue eyes full of too much _pity._ Mul’s breath hitched and he hissed, holding back tears. 

Because it hurt. After around a month of separation, hearing his native tongue, meeting someone who _knew_ his culture, who was part of it, _hurt._ Like grief, but something more, ancient and desperate in its consuming torment.

A sob escaped him and he shattered, falling into Talion, who somehow managed to hold him up, whispering soothing words in Uruklâm. 

Ruby’s small body somehow managed to wrap itself around him as well. He whimpered, trying to keep himself from collapsing.

_Everything is gone._

* * *

Talion was no stranger to people weeping. He knew how to calm someone down, at least. Even so, it was awkward holding up someone who was almost a foot shorter than you. 

The Elf-girl slipped from the trees, then, darting to her brother and tackling him in a hug. 

“Can you handle my leaving…”

“Muldhognûrz,” The Uruk mumbled.

“What?”

“My name.” 

“That explains why you’re here, then.” 

“I guess.” The Uruk’s grin was full of fangs and attempted mirth. Talion remembered, suddenly, an expression of affection he’d seen the Isengarders perform. He reached out and ruffled Muldhognûrz’s hair, then relaxed a bit when the Uruk returned the gesture. 

“Mul,” the halfling whispered, “there’s another Elf.”

A nickname. Yes, that made sense. “Berenil is her name. She has come for her brother.” 

“Oh…” the halfling breathed. Her hand fumbled for her bag as she turned slowly towards the Elves. 

_Oh, indeed, little one…_

-

Berenil and Pelinelon cling to each other desperately. “I missed you,” he whispered. She found herself choking back a wail; it had been so long since she’d been able to speak Sindarin! 

“Brother, long have I searched for you, and yet to see you before is surely the greatest joy of my life!”

“It is the same for me! Ah, but to hear our tongue from the mouth of someone familiar!” 

“Indeed. I—”

“You ought to flee.” Talion’s blunt voice, somehow unpleasant even when not choked with blood, dug through their conversation like a knife through skin. Berenil supposed she would think it more pleasant if he wasn’t so rude. 

“What?”

“Take Muldhognûrz and the halfling girl with you.” 

“Her name is Ruby,” Pelinelon said. 

“Ruby, then. Let the Uruk lead you east; I will meet you at the fortress of Seregost.”

“Should we not go west?”

“No. Make always for the east, never look back. For now, I will leave you. But make no mistake: we will meet again.”

As he gave the message in Westron to Muldhognûrz and Ruby, Berenil reflected on his words. There was Power behind them; and with Talion, that was never a good sign.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Htol. Htolûrz pushdug Gorunshara…Nânt-shi za graus ir-izishu. - Fuck. Fucking dung-filth Deadman…he’s got the drop on us. Notes: Here, ‘Deadman’ is a title, kind of like ‘Sharkû’. 
> 
> Akh, zab-izg. Kalsharalâm? Lat zab-za khlârum. - Yes, I have. Rohirric? You have an accent. Notes: When Talion is simply asking the name of a language, this is Mordain and Isengarder slang for asking if someone speaks it. 
> 
> Akh, nân Uruklâm mâmar-izub. - Yes, but Orcish is my best. 
> 
> Tarklâm-izub. - Westron is mine. Notes: ‘Tark’ literally refers to Gondor, so Talion is saying he speaks Westron like someone from Gondor.
> 
> Gâkh-lat shmbâl nokhar. - May you grow strong again. The Orcish catch-all for people having a hard time of it. 
> 
> Additional notes: Talion is probably the only person in this group who understands Orcish culture. Ruby’s learning, but she just doesn’t have enough experience to really get it yet. Also, you can’t hear this obviously because it’s in writing but Mul has an ‘Isengarder’ accent, which means he rolls his r’s and “snaps” his k’s (they sound like forceful English ones) on his tongue rather than growling them from his throat. This is one of the main distinctions between Mordor and Isengard Orcish. 
> 
> Finally for reference: a height scope for the characters! Talion is a whopping 6’6”, Pelinelon is 6’, Mul is 5’10” (he is tiny for an Uruk, trust me), Berenil is 5’4” (absolutely minuscule for an Elf), and Ruby is 3’4”. There will be another one of these later on as well after some new additions.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment; they make me feel happy and also if you find any issues or have any questions I can answer them!


	8. Over Grass And Over Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little group that set out from Bree is about to grow, and, oddly, this might be a relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update this week because it looks like I won't have time Wednesday! *head desks* No real warning for this chapter, but there are two (count 'em, TWO) new characters being introduced, so that's nice. Oh, and I've started the sequel, which should be up the Saturday after I finish publishing this fic. Enjoy!

Flee, the Man had said. Follow the Uruk. 

Only problem was, said Uruk didn’t know where he was going. East was vague. Seregost was in northern Mordor which was…far away. 

Oh, and Mul had never even been to Mordor. He wasn’t Mordain; he was an Isengarder. 

He wished Talion had stayed with them. He hated having to speak Westron all the time (Elves hating Orcish and all). It was wrong, lilting when it should growl, growling when it should lilt.

Everything’s more fucked up in Westron, Dunagori had said once. 

Mul had never agreed with him more. Even in old Angbandian, things made some sense: it lilted, and that was all. 

It didn’t matter at all, at least not now. Not when they had to get all the way to Mordor. Not when a literal god was expecting them within six months. 

They were walking half in a daze. Berenil and Pelinelon cleaved to each other, whispering in Elvish. Ruby clung just as tightly to Mul. 

They didn’t talk much, that first week, and that was fine. Pelinelon was starting to pick up more Westron, and Ruby occasionally cursed in Orcish now (which Mul took happy blame for). Berenil’s Westron was accented, but then, so was Mul’s, and anyway hers was expectedly better than his.

The second week started with a sudden burst of words and panic. Pelinelon, who could now form basic sentences, yelled out, “Men! Coming up behind!” 

Berenil cursed loudly and took off running. Once again, Ruby found herself slung over Mul’s back as he followed the she-Elf. Pelinelon moved just as fast as his sister. 

“Halt!” Mul froze. The others stopped as well, but looked dreadfully confused. “State your business!” One footsoldier? Easy. 

“We’re leaving,” Mul snapped back, hands shifting subtly towards his knives. It was good to speak Rohirric again, even if the other person would be dead in moments. 

The man’s scent changed from raring for a fight to relieved. “Where to?”

“Northeast.”

“Seregost?”

“Yes.” Where’s he goin’ with this? 

“Good. I am, too—me, my wife, and our unborn child.” 

Mul sniffed the air again. Sure enough, the scent of a female twisted through the air, but there was something…off about it. “Names?”

“I’m Ethelred and she’s Angainë.” The woman, stepping out from behind the man, looked exhausted. “We have family in Seregost and—”

Mul noticed the woman’s impressive height and spiralling horns, grinned, switched to Orcish, and called out, “Hey, horned one! Show us your strength.” 

“I would,” the Umaia growled, her eyes flashing, “were it not for my present condition.”

“How long?” 

“Four months. The child is small and will be born within the next few months. My ruckus will care for us.” 

“Which ruckus you from?” 

“Sercemaica.” 

“Huh. Powerful group.” 

“Yes.” Mul decided Angainë was someone he liked. Her deadpan tones and simple speech were a bit refreshing after the Elves’ obsession with flowery words. 

“WOULD SOMEONE SPEAK WESTRON, PLEASE?” Ruby shrieked, then took a deep breath. “Or at least translate?” 

“They’re headed to Seregost. She’s gonna have a baby, and her ruckus is up there.” 

“We intend to pass through Rohan to Mordor as well. They may join us,” Berenil interjected. 

“My thanks.” Berenil nodded stiffly at the Umaia. She was very obviously intimidated; Angainë did have at least a foot of height on her, not to mention the iron talons and enormous fangs. 

“Do you intend to go on foot?” Ethelred asked (this time in Westron), eyebrows furrowed. “It will take much longer.” 

“We have no horses.” 

“Are you blind? He’s got four!” Mul snapped. 

“What about her?” Ruby asked. 

“I’ll fly. It’s easier than walking.” 

“Why didn’t you do that in the first place?”

“Can’t carry him all the way.” 

“We keep moving?” Pelinelon somehow managed to sound unbelievably exasperated, despite the circumstances.

“Yes. May we borrow your horses?”

“Certainly; now that we’re traveling together, it would be rude if I did not. They don’t have names, in case you were wondering.” 

“I shall call you Tallagor,” Berenil whispered to the horse she mounted. 

Pelinelon named his, “Gwedal,” and Ruby took one look at the one she and Mul would share and made him translate the word ‘flame’ into Rohirric. The horse wound up named Aledtyr. 

The second week passed quickly, a wisp of time broken by the occasional rest that irritated Angainë and Pelinelon now being able to form more complex sentences. 

* * *

Ruby was glad that Mul’s hair wasn’t loose or she was sure she would spend their entire journey spitting it out. He’d had the good sense to braid it and tuck it under his cowl, so at least that was better.

At least she was warm. Apparently, Orcs had unbelievable amounts of body heat, which made the journey much more comfortable. 

The horse was massive and she was glad she sat in front of Mul, where the horse’s back was narrower. 

She thought she was beginning to get used to the journey. Even the steady boom-snap of Angainë’s wings as she flew through the air was becoming more and more normal. 

It had been a fortnight since Bree, and now they were headed north. She was fairly certain that this was going to be her third week with only three meals a day. 

How long is this going to take? she wondered. The Elves ate rarely; Mul, Angainë, and Ethelred went hunting together sometimes, but they mostly brought back venison or rabbit, for which Ruby had no taste.

“This is awful,” Ruby grumbled under her breath. Mul’s laughter vibrated against her back. “No, really!” she insisted

“I’m laughin’ because we all think that,” he said, still chuckling.

“How much longer?”

“Five and half months.” No. Impossible. That was far too long.

“What?”

“Mordor is really damn far away.”

“You’re joking.”

“Ain’t. It’s just the truth.” 

“He’s right,” Angainë called from up ahead. 

“Oh, heavens. I don’t think my bum can take much more of this.”

To her surprise, explosive laughs burst from Ethelred and the Elves. “She is correct,” Ethelred gasped after a few moments, wiping tears away from his eyes. 

“I am?”

“Yes, but so is he. You had better get used to this sort of thing,” Berenil said, still shaking with mirth. 

“That’s just lovely.”

She spent the next two weeks in abject torment, wishing she had never left the Shire.

It rained for three days straight, and once they were forced to take shelter in an abandoned house that leaked through the roof. Angainë complained endlessly about her wings getting soaked.

Mul had taken to speaking exclusively in Orcish. 

Ruby was really, really sick of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra notes: 'Umaia' is the term for Morgoth's Maiar as a whole, rather than just Balrogs. A ruckus is a group of twenty Umaiar (yes, I made this up because they cause a ruckus wherever they go). That's all I have for this week--not too much lore in this one! 
> 
> I've been toying with the idea of linking my playlist for this fic. Let me know if you'd like to see it! Feedback is, as always greatly appreciated, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!


	9. Pursuing It With Eager Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brassenien returns to the plot. Something is revealed about Mul’s origins. Pelinelon is terrified. Angainë curses a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of violence and religious fanaticism. 
> 
> We’re almost there, guys! Just three more chapters! The early update is because I am going on a trip this Wednesday so ONCE AGAIN, no, I cannot update then. *sigh* Enjoy!

The second month began rather abruptly. At least, it did for Pelinelon, who was shaken awake by his sister. “Brassenien! We have to move  _ now!” _

She said it in Westron, and he remembered where he was. “Impossible,” he murmured. He rose swiftly, strapping on his weapons and mounting Gwedal. The sound of horses and wing beats filled the air as they fled. 

“Why the fuck’re we runnin’?” Mul snarled. “We outnumber that stupid bitch.” 

“She has reinforcements. Ten Men!” Angainë snapped. She whirled and shot off. Mul hissed something in Orcish and urged Aledtyr faster, Ruby clinging to his back. Berenil, following right behind them, muttered something unintelligible even to Elven ears. Apparently not to Umaia ones, however, as Angainë barked a laugh from up ahead. “Move it, bitches!” the Umaia roared. 

Gwedal whinnied loudly and broke into a full gallop, Pelinelon clinging to her back. It was moments like this he was thankful to be an Elf; he was sure anyone else would have been bucked off. 

“They’re gaining!” Ethelred shouted. This prompted a round of what was likely vicious cursing from Mul and several winces from both Pelinelon and Berenil. Ruby just screamed something that sounded suspiciously like the word  _ fuck,  _ and clung tighter to her friend. 

The horses were now moving so fast the ground around was almost a blur. Berenil had swung her spear off her back and was holding onto it so tightly her knuckles were white. 

“I hate  _ everything,”  _ she snarled. “Who gave her this mission? The Valar?”

“I have no idea!” Pelinelon yelled back.

They rode on until long past nightfall, when all but Mul and Angainë could no longer see.  _ Ill-fated, indeed!  _ Pelinelon thought as he dismounted.  _ Those two are more lucky now than anyone else.  _

“We’ve made it almost to Isengard,” Ethelred muttered. Mul winced. 

“We can’t go through. That place is a hellhole if I’ve ever heard of one,” Angainë sneered. “And Curumo claims to have been Thû’s apprentice! Filthy pretender.” She spat on the ground. “I’d fuck him up the arse with my sword if I could.” 

“I’d drink to that,” Mul said with a snort of laughter. “That bastard can rot in the Void.”

Angainë grinned. “I like this one!” 

Ethelred laughed. “Saruman is a bit of a bastard. Bloody wizards, sticking their noses in everyone’s business.”

“I know a wizard, and he’s not so bad,” Ruby said. “He’s named Gandalf.” 

“Mithrandir is quite lovely, yes,” Berenil replied with a smile. “He’s rather wise.”

“Saruman wishes he was that one, then,” Mul said. Angainë nodded sagely.

Pelinelon felt like laughing, and did so quietly. Ethelred and Berenil joined him, and then Angainë, Mul, and Ruby started as well. Once their mirth had ended, Pelinelon cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Will we continue on, then?”

“Yes, we shall. Do you need to sleep?” Ethelred asked, eyeing the others with one eyebrow raised.

“Not for another day or so, no,” Berenil said. “Ruby is likely the only one.” 

“I’ll just sleep on the horse,” the Hobbit offered. “Mul’s breathing is rather soothing.”

“What the fuck?” The affronted Uruk glared at her. “What does that even mean?”

“Just—you rumble, and it’s comforting.”

“I got no idea how in the Void to respond to that, but yeah, I guess.” 

“Let’s move,” Ethelred snapped. “You can banter later.”

Angainë nodded her agreement before wheeling around and launching herself skywards. As they mounted and set the horses at a steady canter behind her, Pelinelon swore he could hear someone--deeper-voiced and older--singing something in a strange language. 

_ It sounds like running would if it was a song…  _

* * *

Mul’s breath quickened as Isengard loomed. Ruby, softly snoring against his chest, started awake. “Are you all right?” she whispered. 

“Why would I be?” 

“You come from there, don’t you?”

“Thought you knew that!’ 

“I didn’t!” 

“Oh.” They were both completely quiet and then--

And then.  _ It’s back. What the fu-- _

Agony splintered through his head, and he passed out. 

* * *

Ruby screamed. She couldn’t help it. Her closest friend had just roared in agony and fallen off a horse--what else was she supposed to do in the wake of an event like tha? He was twitching, teeth bared and ears back. His eyes were open, now, pupils narrowed to slits as he screamed. 

“Fuck!” Angainë landed swiftly, leaning down as best she could. “Runûth-sûr!” 

“Amirz lat? Lat gurz? Kramp-izg îst-nar.” The agony was evidently abating, but his eyes were unfocused and he looked ill. 

“Angainë-izg. Lat narbai.” 

“Akh?” 

“Akh. Du tulg.” She extended an arm and he took it, staggering to his feet. Ruby cleaved to his side, hoping he couldn’t feel her shivering. He put one clawed hand on her shoulder gently, as if to reassure her. 

“Can hear  _ him  _ again,” he said shakily. 

“The Dark Lord?” 

“Nar. Saruman.” 

“Odd.” 

  
“Don’t matter. We gotta move, or the Elves get their asses kicked, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” And off they went again. Ruby grunted; her backside hurt unbelievably from the horse. She hated it. 

Over her shoulder, she could hear men shouting and horses galloping.  _ I  _ really  _ hate that sound.  _

* * *

Brassenien sneered. “Easy targets.” 

Thorn smirked back at her. “And that’s an Orc head on my wall.” 

“Oh no,” Alman snarled. “It’s going on mine.” The others hooted with laughter. 

“You can fight over that Orc when we’ve actually caught them,” Brassenien growled, her mood ruined by such foolishness.  _ No matter,  _ she thought determinedly.  _ All will share in the triumph over the unworthy.  _

_ I just have to wait a little longer. Patience is a virtue.  _

The sound of hoofbeats filled her ears. At last, the storm of righteousness would dash away the stain of villainy. 

After this, no more foolish men would taunt her with their uproarious chatter. 

After this, no one would doubt her skills or her devotion. 

After this, she would be a legend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone’s interested, here’s the link to my playlist not just for this fic but for the whole series: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1u4lwl0mBBbnJM7ri1mfJo?si=xdcXsdOfQ2CX3w6kyBt1ag
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Amirz lat? Lat gurz? Kramp-izg îst-nar. - Who are you? Are you death? I do not know.
> 
> Angainë-izg. Lat narbai. - I am Angainë. You are safe. Note: this form of saying ‘I am so-and-so’ is actually informal and used because they already know each other. 
> 
> Akh - yes
> 
> Du tulg - Formal for ‘get up’, literally ‘now rise.’
> 
> As always, please leave a comment! They encourage me and make my day!


	10. And Whither Then? I Cannot Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brassenien has caught up with them. Battle seems the only recourse; yet the consequences seem too great to even consider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I'm posting on Tuesdays now I decided! This one is very violent, although not graphic. We get to see the characters pull some serious stunts and Mul gets to unleash some pent-up...well, you'll see. Enjoy!

She was gaining on them. Anyone with ears could hear it. The shouts--in Westron and in other tongues--grew louder. Berenil lifted a hand to her spear where it was slung over her shoulder. She had to be ready at all costs. 

It had been a month of pursuit, of mild skirmishes that didn’t really injure anyone, of Angainë swooping higher out of range of a bow. And, worst of all, of shortages. 

  
They had little food and water, and while many of their little group could take it, Ruby was at a significant disadvantage. Being used to around five meals a day didn’t help her at all. Meanwhile, Angainë and Mul were the opposite. They needed very little food, if any at all, and often shared what they had with the others. 

Berenil gritted her teeth. They had to keep going, no matter the cost. Pelinelon would be safe in Seregost--so would Mul and Ruby. She urged Tallagor faster until she was racing at the head of their little company. “Noro lim!” she hissed. The horse obeyed, though likely it did not understand her words. 

“What is it they want?” she heard Angainë snarl. “What do they pursue us for?” 

“My brother!” Berenil yelled back. The Umaia whooped. 

“Well, let me at ‘em, then!” Mul voiced his (very loud) agreement, as did Ethelred. Berenil grinned. 

“I’d love to, but I’d rather we just escape!” Pelinelon called. 

“They ain’t gonna stop!” Mul roared. “We may as well fight ‘em!” 

“It’s still midday! We won’t be able to get close enough safely!”

After that, no one really spoke. 

Night fell, and the overcast sky made it hard to see even for Berenil’s eyes. She glared into the distance, irritated by her impediment. Pelinelon shifted restlessly. 

“They stopped.” Mul’s voice was quiet. “Can see the fires.” 

“They look exhausted. The zealot looks pissed,” Angainë added with a vicious smile. “Easy targets.” 

“Must we fight them?” Ruby sounded nauseous. “I  _ really  _ don’t want to.” 

“You can fight,” Mul pointed out. “Taught you how to use a knife.” 

  
“I…I know that! It’s just--I don’t like blood.” 

“Is that it?” Even with limited vision, Berenil could hear Angainë’s scornful voice. 

“Does it make you sick?” Ethelred asked quietly. 

“A bit. Not much anymore, but a bit.” 

“Then you can fight.” He moved closer to Angainë, who purred quietly. “It’s her I’m worried about.” 

“I’m not going to give birth in the midst of battle!” 

  
“I never said you would. I merely am worried that you might get hurt and--” The thought was evidently too terrible for him to finish. Angainë leaned against him. 

“Melda,” she murmured, “I’m not stupid enough to hurl myself into a skirmish like this. If things go wrong, I’ll fly to Seregost on my own and mourn there.” 

“I know that, but--” 

“But nothing. I’ll stay behind. You all kick ass for me, yeah? When you get back, I want the whole story.” She chuckled. “I’ll be fine.” 

Mul held out his arm to her. She took it and they knocked heads before separating. “Gâkh lab gothu grish,” she said. 

“Gâkh latub azh,” he replied. They exchanged a nod, and something passed between them Berenil couldn’t quite identify. Ruby quietly moved to stand next to Mul, one hand to her dagger. 

“Let’s move,” she whispered, remounting her horse.  _ Ten men? Easy, especially if they’re mercenaries.  _

“Leave Brassenien to me,” Pelinelon said, voice hard and brutal. “She wants me? She’ll get me.” 

“Gladly,” Ethelred hissed, “I just want to keep my wife safe.” 

Mul just growled, then, “Like fuck some man’s gonna off me.” Ruby seemed only interested in her shaking hands. 

They urged the horses to a gallop. 

_ This is going to be fun.  _

* * *

Mul’s teeth were gritted so hard he wondered if he’d be able to unlock them. They’d passed the point where he was connected to Saruman, but he still had that urge to kill. And he’d get to satisfy it, now. 

Sheer bloodlust was coming close to drowning him. Ruby was shivering with something he could pick out as anticipation. He could smell the men as they neared and then--

They reached the camp. Berenil’s spear flashed, a scream wrenched from someone’s throat, and then they were moving on. 

Mul launched himself from the horse, and within a moment his knives were in his hands. The first of them charged him head-on. Blood splattered as he cut the man’s throat, then sheathed the second knife up to the hilt in his gut for good measure.

Again and again, duck, parry, kick, stab. Death followed him willingly.  _ I am Fighting Uruk-hai. None may best me.  _ He’d felled three before someone able to match him appeared. 

“Hello, Orc,” one man snarled. “I’m Thorn, and I’m the last face you’ll ever see.”

“Like fuck you are.” Thorn launched himself at Mul with surprising force and the Uruk was forced to give ground before he could raise his knives to block. They fought with everything they had, sword meeting twin daggers and neither gaining any ground at all.

But Mul was Uruk-hai, and Thorn was a man. Mul had by nature more endurance, and was stronger and able to take harsher hits. Thorn found himself staggering backwards as the Uruk flung his full weight behind a blow and he slipped.

Mul’s left knife slashed Thorn’s stomach, then his throat, then his leg. One final swipe separated his head from his body, and Mul went back to fighting those barely worthy of the term ‘mercenary’. 

* * *

Pelinelon raced through the battle, hunting for the mysteriously missing Brassenien. He slipped in and out of tents, eyes darting about. Then, all of a sudden, there she was.

“I knew you couldn’t resist fighting me yourself,” she gloated. “Now face me like a warrior and have an honorable death. It’ll be the only thing honorable you’ve ever done.” 

With a snarl, Pelinelon drew his sword.  _ I’ll make her pay.  _

She grinned viciously, her own sword in her hands. “Finally, someone who it will take me more than a minute to dispatch!”

“You will not be able to…dispatch me.” Their swords clashed, and the familiar rhythm of a duel made itself known. 

Block, parry, lunge, attack, retreat, block parry. Again. And again, on and on for perhaps ten minutes. Finally sick of it, he decided to break the cycle and dodge past her defenses. One swipe and she was bleeding down her face from her forehead. Brassenien let out a screech of fury and charged. 

Pelinelon dodged her blows—the pain was making her sloppy. Finding an opening, he took it and lunged forward. 

The blade went right through her stomach and she choked. Her sword fell to the ground. “Oh,” she whispered, breathing ragged and shallow. “So this is the end…”

Her eyes closed one final time. Pelinelon felt ill. In the heat of battle, he had killed another Elf.

He was a kinslayer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought this was the end of the angst, didn't you? Oh no, now we have a KINSLAYER in our midst! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! Ahem. Obnoxious evil laughter aside, the story's almost over, but never fear! Burr's got you covered with TWO (count 'em, TWO) planned sequels. Titles revealed in two weeks (hey, I sense a theme here)! I love you all, and I can't wait to tell you more! *hugs*


	11. Yet Feet That Wandering Have Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the battle and on to Seregost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, we’re almost at the finish line! Next comes the epilogue! Also, I overhauled the chapter titles! Now each one is a line from the ‘Road Goes Ever On And On’ poem that Tolkien wrote, which I named this little tale after! Enjoy!

Berenil finished off her last opponent and raced for her brother where he knelt in shock by Brasenien’s corpse. 

“I am a kinslayer, sister,” he whispered. “I am a _kinslayer.”_

“What’s a kinslayer?” Ethelred asked, dismounting from his horse. 

“I killed another Elf. She…” 

“She was a bitch. If my family was like that, I’d off ‘em in a minute.” Mul spat at Brassenien’s body. 

“He’s right. We Rohirrim have a saying: _Lif is læne: eal scæceð leoht and lif somod._ Life is fleeting: all departs, light and life together. Her life has ended. Another will begin.” 

Ruby, covered in blood and staggering, nodded blearily and fainted. Mul caught her and picked her up. He eyed Pelinelon. “We’re headed for Mordor. No one’ll give a shit. Most you’ll get is a slap on the back.” 

“We should at least bury her. She fought honorably.” 

“Of course!” Ethelred looked alarmed at the implication of something else. “She deserves nothing less.” 

“We should bury the others, too.” Berenil sighed. She rubbed a hand over her face. Post-battle fatigue took over; she barely managed to drag herself back to Tallagor and mount safely. 

Mul (damn him) had no such issues. But then, his entire race was bred for nothing but war. Berenil supposed it made sense, but she still felt embarrassed to be outdone by an Orc. 

As they made their way up to Angainë, the Umaia noticed their exhausted state and frowned. “You all right?” 

“Pelinelon got her,” Mul supplied. 

“Good. Why’s he look so miserable, then?”

“Said he’s a _kinslayer._ Whatever that means.” 

“It’s an Elf thing. I’ve heard of that.” 

“Fuckin’ weird.” 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” 

That night, sleep came easier than it had in weeks. Berenil felt like she had been knocked out by Talion all over again--it was hard to believe it had been three months since they’d left that region. 

Three months since they’d known each other. She considered these people her friends, now. Life moved so much faster among mortals, and she found herself moving faster as well. 

She lay awake for just a little while longer after that, staring at the sky and thanking whoever was watching for bringing their little group together. 

* * *

The next two months went quickly, then the first morning of the sixth month Ruby was woken in panic by everyone else. “Angainë,” Mul hissed into her ear, “she’s havin’ the baby _now.”_

“Oh no.” Ruby flew to her feet. She noticed that the Umaia was standing, bracing herself against a large rock. That was odd; her grunts of pain were not, however. 

“Fucking _Void!”_

Ethelred let out a yelp of pain as Angainë squeezed his arm. “Sorry,” she grunted. “Fucking--o, damnio'r cyfan!” 

Two hours later (Ruby had kept track to have something to do) the baby girl, named Ruxahild in a mix of Elvish and Rohirric, had been born and Angainë had curled herself around the baby. She let them see the child, but was fiercely protective of it, only letting Ethelred near her. 

“That was--” 

“A bit gross?” Mul supplied with a grin. 

Ruby swatted his arm playfully. “A bit, yes.” 

“Sorry for the inconvenience!” Angainë chuckled, her eyes gleaming with happiness. “She really, really wanted out.” 

  
Ethelred, the child in his arms, nodded in stunned silence. “She takes after her mother.” 

“Really?” Berenil asked. “I haven’t seen her yet.” 

Ethelred showed Berenil the tiny baby. She did indeed have her mother’s face; the same pointed nose, black hair, and large ears, but her father’s grey eyes looked out curiously at the world. She reached for her father and cooed. 

Ethelred smiled brightly down at the little girl and held out a finger for his daughter to hold. Ruby’s heart caught in her throat and she pressed a hand to her chest. 

Mul purred quietly from behind her. “Cute.” 

Angainë nodded and sat down next to her husband. She held out a clawed finger for her daughter and she instantly moved to grab it. “She is strong,” the Umaia said approvingly. 

Ruxahild cooed again and nuzzled closer to her father before falling asleep. 

Ruby smiled thickly, thinking of her younger siblings and her own parents. A pang of homesickness hurt her for the first time, and she choked back a sob. 

“You alright?” 

“Just…missing home.” 

“I think we all are.” 

* * *

The mountains provided a harsh path, but Mordor was, fortunately, very close. They had only to make it through this obstacle and they would be in Seregost. They would be safe.

Shoving down what misgivings he had, Mul urged Aledtyr onward. Ruby, nestled safely in front of him, yawned. “Are we there yet?” she asked

“We’ve got another day or so. Won’t be much longer.” 

“Good. I’m sick of traveling.” 

“You sound like me,” Mul muttered. 

“Your name means ‘travel far’. As if.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“No.” Ruby’s elbow found his ribs and he grunted. “In fact, I intend to keep pestering you for the rest of the day. Or until I fall asleep. Whichever comes first.” 

“Bloody fuckin’--” 

“Shush. No more cursing,” Ruby chided. 

“I’ll curse all I want,” Mul said stubbornly. 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

“No. Now let me sleep, I’ve decided I don’t want to pester you anymore.” 

“Fine.” 

Ruby settled back against him and was soon snoring softly. Mul sighed quietly and kept up the same pace he’d been going. Above, Angainë’s wings flapped softly, Ruxahild strapped to her chest. The sound of walking horses, now a constant, was rather relaxing. 

They’d managed to procure food from friendly travelers and were alright as far as that was concerned. Still, it’d be nice to be able to not have to ration things again, and to be able to do something other than ride on horseback. 

Night fell, and they stopped for a while to rest and eat. The horses drank from a nearby pool of snowmelt and Ruby lay curled next to Mul, fast asleep. 

Pelinelon’s voice flowed steadily in the final verse of a song, one that left them all feeling about ready to fall asleep. 

_A Lórien, oh dreamlord_

_In quiet gardens dreaming_

_Beloved of the healer_

_Your kindness is unending…_

Silence reigned after that, and soon, they were all in a state of deep slumber. 

* * *

Morning dawned quick and cold. Bundling themselves deeper into warm cloaks, the little group headed off again. Mul, sick of the countries inhabited by men, felt immediately calmer when he heard the first sounds of his native tongue (though spoken rougher) and Orcish civilization in general. 

A rolling song danced across the air, sung in Angbandian. The lilting language cheered Angainë up quite a bit, and she lifted her voice with the others. Someone’s shout of joy accompanied this, and then wingbeats.

Another Umaia shot through the sky. They dived swiftly, pulling up and landing to greet Angainë. “Deirfiúr! Tá tú ar ais!” they--no, he--exclaimed, pulling her close. He looked like Angainë, and Mul realized he was probably her brother. 

“Tá agam, deartháir. Thug mé mo theaghlach liom.” She gestured to Ethelred and then to Ruxahild. 

“Ah. You don’t speak our tongue yet, do you?” the other Umaia asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Sadly no. It is a beautiful one, though,” Ethelred replied. 

“It is indeed. Welcome, brother. I am Hrávo, Angainë’s elder brother. You are a good match for her, I can tell. A warrior, yes?” 

When Ethelred nodded, Hrávo smiled widely. “As is she. Your child will be strong indeed!” 

“Thank you.” 

“You are welcome. Come, let’s get back to the rest of the ruckus. Atya and Amya will want to hear of your return.” Angainë’s eyes widened. 

“Atya and Amya? They live?” 

“Yes, yes they do.” The female Umaia (fuck, Mul thought, there’s two now) laughed out loud with excitement and launched herself skyward. Her brother followed immediately after. 

Urging the horses into a steady canter, the other five hurried after the Umaiar, eager to see civilization again. 

The group of Umaiar was singing, as expected, and at their head was a tall female with broad shoulders and red braids. When she saw who was approaching she lifted a hand and everyone stopped. Two rocketed to their feet and raced for Angainë, enveloping her in their arms and chattering excitedly in Angbandian. They turned to Ethelred soon after, and the reunion carried on for at least half an hour. 

Mul, Ruby, Pelinelon, and Berenil stood awkwardly and watched. Then the one who seemed to be the leader turned her coal black eyes to them and walked--no, glided over. _She’s old. Really, really fuckin’ old,_ Mul realized. 

“There is a visitor here for you four. I knew you would come. Follow me.” She strode off again. 

The four of them exchanged confused glances. “We should probably follow her,” Mul said quietly. 

They did, quickening their paces to keep up. She led them to a small indent in the rock--not so much a cave as a hollow. Inside, someone hooded and cloaked sat. The two of them spoke quickly in Orcish, then--

“You made it.” Talion, the mortal Man turned god, rose. “I was hoping you would. We ought to get a move on--it gets horrifyingly cold at night here.” He headed for the main area of the camp, calling over his shoulder as he did. 

“Welcome to Seregost!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sobs* *enfolds in hug* I love you all!!!!! We made it to Seregost together, guys—I couldn’t have done this without you!!! 
> 
> Pelinelon’s lullaby was written by me! It should be sung like a Gregorian chant and is just a silly little ditty I made up on the fly because I had Fëanturi on the brain. 
> 
> Have some silliness:  
> Talion: *has brief scene in the fic*  
> Me: THE RETURN OF THE KING
> 
> No one:  
> Mul every five seconds: Swear! Cussing swearing cuss!


	12. Turn At Last To Home Afar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue. Someone unexpected reappears, and people are happy in general. At least, for now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaah it's oveerrrr I'm crying I love you all and I hope you enjoy this sweet little epilogue! *hugs, hands you sweets, then runs off and sobs*

As it turned out, Seregost was a very nice place. Ruby expressed this to Mul, three months after their arrival, sipping a cup of ‘waking black’ by a rather large fireplace. 

“It’s nicer than Isengard.” 

A huff of amusement came from nearby--probably Talion. He lay with his mate, their legs intertwined. “Isengard is fucking awful,” Ratbag agreed. “Only been once. Never goin’ again.” 

Berenil eyed the two of them. “A low bar to cross, I see.” 

“Speaking of visiting places,” Talion chimed in, a smile crossed his face. “Someone from Bree was rather eager to see you lot again. Said she hoped you’d been eating enough.” 

Puzzlement, then comprehension, then delight, made their way across Ruby’s face. “Oh! Grandmama?” 

“Yes, of course. Wise old woman.” 

“Oh, no. She was eerily smart,” Pelinelon huffed. “And a Maia to boot!” 

“Of course she was!” Ruby said firmly. “Only a Maia could have made that much food in so little time.” 

“You ate every last bit of that meal,” Mul snorted. “Only Hobbits.” 

“Oh, shut it!” 

Mul just chuckled and ruffled her hair. His was now to his mid back--he could let it be that long now that they were no longer traveling. He’d kept his usual way of styling it, though: two braids on either side and then pulled up into a tail.    
  


“Hmph! Only children behave in such a way! Manners, you lot,  _ manners!”  _ A voice, unfamiliar after so long, sounded and in came Grandmama. 

Talion chuckled. “You said the same thing to me this morning.” 

“You opened the door half-naked!” 

“I was wearing pants!” 

“And nothing else!” Their bickering continued for a while and then Ratbag made his displeasure known.

“I’ll have you all know that it’s my fault he was like that. I was cold.” 

Ruby’s shriek of horror echoed through the library. Talion whooped with laughter, as did Mul. Pelinelon only sighed, a sentiment shared by his sister. 

“Well,” Berenil said cheerfully, as if to distract from the irritation of this discussion. “What shall we do today?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, the moment you've all been waiting for: SEQUEL TITLES!! In chronological order because I am trying to be nice before the angs--whoops no spoilers here! 
> 
> The Ring's War (chapter 1 up Saturday! This is the first one where major canon characters are featured with POVs)   
> Down In The Valley 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting, and I hope to see you on Saturday for the first chapter of The Ring's War! I love you all so much--especially Inkstained_Dreamer, who has supported me throughout this whole endeavor so far! *aggressively hugs*


End file.
